We arrived in Colorado a week ago. In that week we have had to replace a furnace, put a hot water heater in, fix a caved in roof, hunt down (literally) our postal carrier, get three feet of snow shoveled off the roof, go without water for 5 days, remove a dead cat in the crawl space, and haul a dead skunk off the property. I have been in the well pit dozens of times. Everything has been a complete mess. Instead of boring readers with my whining about what we have been through, I thought I would focus on what Papa has been doing.
And the most important thing Papa has been teaching me is that He is easily found when looked for. I am learning that when I remove the glasses of religious garbage, He tends to show up more. We first found him in the local bar and grill down the street. He showed up as a couple of friendly gals running this 'mucho local color' bar at the bottom of our hill. They talked and fed us and told stories of their horse trip last summer. They invited us into their family there at the bar and made sure we knew we were welcome any time. They were Jesus to us, whipping up hamhocks and beans (for free) and introducing us to everybody who came through the door. It was the church without the stained glass and self righteousness, without sunday best clothing and easter bonnets. And nobody hit us up for tithes or offerings. I made an offering, by the way, and tried to pay for the hamhocks and beans. They refused my offering and were slightly miffed that I would try to buy them off. It was a gift, not something you pay for.
I can't say that we will frequent the bar regularly, but it was a great place. And I hate to say it, but more 'church' happened there than has happened in the box on Sunday morning in years. And I didn't have to feel guilty or obligated or feel like there was something wrong if I wanted to get up and leave anytime I wanted. I didn't have to put on any pretenses or go through any religious hoopla. I got to be me.
Why is it that community happens outside of our self focused understanding of what should and shouldn't be in the kingdom of God? Why is it that we Christians think we are so much better or so much different than bar folks? More than that, why do we PRIDE ourselves in our difference? Maybe it's time for someone to stand up and speak the truth: "Self righteousness looks like crap when we wear it, so lets stop wearing it and be real people".
We are talking about going to the institution this Sunday morning. I wonder if we will find Papa there.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Monday, March 3, 2008
Really humbled by an incredible God
This is a hard post to write. The journey God has had us on has gone to places I never imagined. Back in January I started blogging, and I wrote the following in a post called "Getting pushed to the edge":
"So I guess he is taking me to a new edge in my life. I have walked to many edges in my foolishness or selfishness. I know those edges. This one really was a walk of faith, and I know I wasn't being stupid in my decision to walk out there. But for some reason I am standing here with my toes hanging over the edge, knowing that my loving Daddy led me here, and knowing on another level that it isn't going like it should have. So I am standing here with my hands empty and looking a little dumb, because there was nothing out here. The journey led nowhere."
When I wrote that, we had been following Papa on a journey of trying to buy property in Colorado. We had found a place and it seemed perfect, and even though every time we tried to get financing it fell through, we felt certain that He was leading us to continue with it. As I wrote in the blog, I have had my own agenda many times in the past, yet this didn't feel like my agenda. It really seemed that God was leading us to pursue this house. I know that sounds selfish and way too much like the prosperity, religious BS that I feel strongly against. That is why it felt like God - because it called us into territory that was very uncomfortable for us. I have always thought that God has far better things to do than go around blessing already hedonistic people with more things they don't need. I believe in a God who doesn't have to do anything I want. I believe he is very much God if he doesn't bless or do anything I want him to do. I have worked hard to rediscover a faith that gets away from tenants like that.
So to say that it really felt like the spirit was leading buying this house is really hard to say. I don't think it was about God wanting to bless us. It was about seeing if we would be faithful to a God who looked like he wasn't going to do anything for us. All I knew at the time was that He was indicating this direction, and that we were supposed to follow, and that following, as crazy as it seemed to follow, was the act of worship He was calling us into.
It was particularly hard when the funding fell through more than half a dozen times. There looked like there might be a way, and then it would fall through. Over and over this happened. Finally we just gave up. We had exhausted every possible option truly believing that Papa wanted us to follow in this direction. The blog entry above was the final entry into the story - that the trusting of his goodness, even if nothing good happened, was the walk of faith. Getting to the edge of the cliff that lead to nowhere was the end. Or so we thought.
I won't go into details. Some pretty incredible things have happened through some pretty incredible people. I don't want to toot anybody's horn except my Papa's, so let it suffice to say that in 3 days we are leaving for Colorado, to move into a house that was meant to be. And now I am standing on the edge of a different cliff where suddenly, and miraculously, the path did lead somewhere. And I have to sit in utter amazement and awe at how much my Papa loves me.
"So I guess he is taking me to a new edge in my life. I have walked to many edges in my foolishness or selfishness. I know those edges. This one really was a walk of faith, and I know I wasn't being stupid in my decision to walk out there. But for some reason I am standing here with my toes hanging over the edge, knowing that my loving Daddy led me here, and knowing on another level that it isn't going like it should have. So I am standing here with my hands empty and looking a little dumb, because there was nothing out here. The journey led nowhere."
When I wrote that, we had been following Papa on a journey of trying to buy property in Colorado. We had found a place and it seemed perfect, and even though every time we tried to get financing it fell through, we felt certain that He was leading us to continue with it. As I wrote in the blog, I have had my own agenda many times in the past, yet this didn't feel like my agenda. It really seemed that God was leading us to pursue this house. I know that sounds selfish and way too much like the prosperity, religious BS that I feel strongly against. That is why it felt like God - because it called us into territory that was very uncomfortable for us. I have always thought that God has far better things to do than go around blessing already hedonistic people with more things they don't need. I believe in a God who doesn't have to do anything I want. I believe he is very much God if he doesn't bless or do anything I want him to do. I have worked hard to rediscover a faith that gets away from tenants like that.
So to say that it really felt like the spirit was leading buying this house is really hard to say. I don't think it was about God wanting to bless us. It was about seeing if we would be faithful to a God who looked like he wasn't going to do anything for us. All I knew at the time was that He was indicating this direction, and that we were supposed to follow, and that following, as crazy as it seemed to follow, was the act of worship He was calling us into.
It was particularly hard when the funding fell through more than half a dozen times. There looked like there might be a way, and then it would fall through. Over and over this happened. Finally we just gave up. We had exhausted every possible option truly believing that Papa wanted us to follow in this direction. The blog entry above was the final entry into the story - that the trusting of his goodness, even if nothing good happened, was the walk of faith. Getting to the edge of the cliff that lead to nowhere was the end. Or so we thought.
I won't go into details. Some pretty incredible things have happened through some pretty incredible people. I don't want to toot anybody's horn except my Papa's, so let it suffice to say that in 3 days we are leaving for Colorado, to move into a house that was meant to be. And now I am standing on the edge of a different cliff where suddenly, and miraculously, the path did lead somewhere. And I have to sit in utter amazement and awe at how much my Papa loves me.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Older and wiser
Okay, so I got smart in the last ten seconds of the game and decided not to use drywall on my dad's ceiling. My wife suggested it might be better to do something less time consuming since I didn't have a lot of time to put into the project. So I put a drop ceiling in, and got it done in a day. We actually torn out all the lathe and plaster and cleaned up and put the new ceiling in within 7 hours. And dad was happy. When he tried to pay me, I reminded him of a few of the times he bailed me out, helped me out, or just plain gave me money. In his 79 years of life he must have learned something, because he didn't argue with me from some place of pride. He just said "Oh, I forgot about all those times" and let me do the labor for free.
I notice there is something that shifts inside of me as a man when I actually do something smart, like putting in a drop ceiling rather than a drywall ceiling. There are so few times I actually do smart things that when I stumble on doing one, I step back and take notice. I am far more used to doing stupid things and then asking myself how I got into the dumb places I get into. Making a smart choice to not push myself so hard - to work smarter, not harder - is something I want to do a lot more of in my old age.
Being a wise manager, a wise steward if you will, of what God has given me - that has become my theme of late. And I see more and more people really bad at it. They (we) eat too much, work too hard, don't work hard enough, drink too much, over spiritualize, wait too much for God to do what we should be doing; the list goes on and on. Simply taking what he has given us and doing the best we can with it has become a lost art. We get told so many times - especially in the church environment - that we are bad, and desperately in need of God to fix us. I understand the theology of it all. I just disagree. I think we are born sinful, but through Christ we are made whole again - our hearts are good, and we don't need God to always fix us. What we need is God to direct us to following the heart he has given us and start really living - to the glory of God. The glory of God is a man fully alive.
Most men I know are working hard to stay out of trouble. Few are really pursuing living. They pursue right performance and right living, but lose their hearts and their way in the process. We end up with a lot of nice men without hearts. Safe, but harmless. Saved, but impotent. Secure, but lacking any real purpose and direction in life.
Where are the men ready to launch into something alive, dangerous, unpredicatable, unsafe, and vitally pulsating with the blood of Christ?
I notice there is something that shifts inside of me as a man when I actually do something smart, like putting in a drop ceiling rather than a drywall ceiling. There are so few times I actually do smart things that when I stumble on doing one, I step back and take notice. I am far more used to doing stupid things and then asking myself how I got into the dumb places I get into. Making a smart choice to not push myself so hard - to work smarter, not harder - is something I want to do a lot more of in my old age.
Being a wise manager, a wise steward if you will, of what God has given me - that has become my theme of late. And I see more and more people really bad at it. They (we) eat too much, work too hard, don't work hard enough, drink too much, over spiritualize, wait too much for God to do what we should be doing; the list goes on and on. Simply taking what he has given us and doing the best we can with it has become a lost art. We get told so many times - especially in the church environment - that we are bad, and desperately in need of God to fix us. I understand the theology of it all. I just disagree. I think we are born sinful, but through Christ we are made whole again - our hearts are good, and we don't need God to always fix us. What we need is God to direct us to following the heart he has given us and start really living - to the glory of God. The glory of God is a man fully alive.
Most men I know are working hard to stay out of trouble. Few are really pursuing living. They pursue right performance and right living, but lose their hearts and their way in the process. We end up with a lot of nice men without hearts. Safe, but harmless. Saved, but impotent. Secure, but lacking any real purpose and direction in life.
Where are the men ready to launch into something alive, dangerous, unpredicatable, unsafe, and vitally pulsating with the blood of Christ?
Friday, February 22, 2008
I hate drywall
I had this great idea of trying to bless my dad by tearing out his hundred year old lathe and plaster ceiling and replace it with a nice drywall ceiling. I had the idea that I could do that in 2 days. I am not very bright.
I hate drywall. I hate the dust, the weight, the way it dries my hands out, and breathing the @#*^&! stuff. What was I thinking? When I was a young buck, I could carry 2 sheets of 5/8 drywall 12 ft long by myself (Please, PLEASE be impressed). Tonight I loaded up 2 sheets of 1/2 inch drywall that were only 8 ft long and I thought I was going to die. Getting old is hell. Having to admit to myself and the world that I ain't what I used to be is humbling to say the least.
I don't know what the point of all this is except to say this; I hope I can live the second half of my life smarter than I did the first half. I hope I don't ever have to sling drywall again, that I never have to brag about how much drywall I can sling to feel valuable and worthwhile, or to impress people. I want to do a whole lot more blessing of others and a whole lot less ceilings. And I want to make a difference in people's lives more than I want to make money, be popular, or get my hair back (the hair is a sore topic).
May my eternal Papa show even more mercy to a middle aged, ex idiot, and hopefully ex-drywall slinger in the years to come.
I hate drywall. I hate the dust, the weight, the way it dries my hands out, and breathing the @#*^&! stuff. What was I thinking? When I was a young buck, I could carry 2 sheets of 5/8 drywall 12 ft long by myself (Please, PLEASE be impressed). Tonight I loaded up 2 sheets of 1/2 inch drywall that were only 8 ft long and I thought I was going to die. Getting old is hell. Having to admit to myself and the world that I ain't what I used to be is humbling to say the least.
I don't know what the point of all this is except to say this; I hope I can live the second half of my life smarter than I did the first half. I hope I don't ever have to sling drywall again, that I never have to brag about how much drywall I can sling to feel valuable and worthwhile, or to impress people. I want to do a whole lot more blessing of others and a whole lot less ceilings. And I want to make a difference in people's lives more than I want to make money, be popular, or get my hair back (the hair is a sore topic).
May my eternal Papa show even more mercy to a middle aged, ex idiot, and hopefully ex-drywall slinger in the years to come.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Waiting...again
Ever hear the phrase "Twiteling your thumbs"? My folks used to use those words to describe the process of waiting. It was what you did when you were waiting. I am not a very good thumb twiteler, so needless to say, I am not very good at waiting either. I like instant gratification and spontaneity, not long drawn out ordeals. Lately, life has become a long drawn out ordeal.
For the past year we have been thinking about moving to the mountains somewhere. I have lived in the plains of the midwest for more years than I even want to mention. It's flat here, meaning that backpacking through the corn rows ain't real excitin'. I have longed to live in the mountains ever since I learned about mountains. I remember being 8 years old and seeing the Rockies for the first time. I remember it distinctly because I thought they looked like big thunderheads brewing on the horizon. I thought Dad was joking when he said they were mountains. The image of those towering masses jutting into the sky is forever imprinted on my brain.
For the last 2 months we have been trying to find a property in the mountains to move to. We found one, and the ordeal of getting it to work out has been more than grueling. We have had to let go of it more than 6 times, and somehow it keeps rising from the dead. Tomorrow it is supposed to close. I am still keeping my fingures crossed. But we won't be able to move for 3 weeks. Hence the twiteling of the thumbs.
Papa seems to like twiteling of thumbs, because he seems to ask me to do it alot. I guess some folks fold their hands to pray. Some raise their hands in worship to God. I guess my way of honoring him is by twiteling.
For the past year we have been thinking about moving to the mountains somewhere. I have lived in the plains of the midwest for more years than I even want to mention. It's flat here, meaning that backpacking through the corn rows ain't real excitin'. I have longed to live in the mountains ever since I learned about mountains. I remember being 8 years old and seeing the Rockies for the first time. I remember it distinctly because I thought they looked like big thunderheads brewing on the horizon. I thought Dad was joking when he said they were mountains. The image of those towering masses jutting into the sky is forever imprinted on my brain.
For the last 2 months we have been trying to find a property in the mountains to move to. We found one, and the ordeal of getting it to work out has been more than grueling. We have had to let go of it more than 6 times, and somehow it keeps rising from the dead. Tomorrow it is supposed to close. I am still keeping my fingures crossed. But we won't be able to move for 3 weeks. Hence the twiteling of the thumbs.
Papa seems to like twiteling of thumbs, because he seems to ask me to do it alot. I guess some folks fold their hands to pray. Some raise their hands in worship to God. I guess my way of honoring him is by twiteling.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Man without a mission
All my life I have done well when I had a clear task in front of me. My friends used to laugh at me and call me 'man with a mission'. I liked the title. I was always into something, whether it was rebuilding an old Harley or remodeling a house. I function well when there is a destination in front of me. When I have that vision, I can get pretty obsessive about focusing all of who I am on that project. My favorite hobby in the past has been rebuilding old motorcycles. I remember I bought a Sportster that was supposed to be a complete basket case. The guy I bought it from said everything was there. He had done the heads and values and all I had to do was put it together.
I couldn't sleep for a week. I would get off work (or find an excuse to get off early) and work until midnight, never stopping for dinner of needed potty stops. Covered in grease and grinning from ear to ear, I would lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, unable to shut off the momentum. Sometimes I would stop trying to fight it and just go back out to the garage until I couldn't stay awake anymore, then collapse on the couch.
All I could think about was the bike. For a week I didn't do anything but function as a severe man with a mission. It was all I could talk about, think about, or dream about. I wanted to spend every free moment building it. And believe it or not, I got it all built and had one piece left over. It looked like junk, so I threw it away, not knowing where it would go. I also had an uncovered hole on the side of the engine, but I couldn't make any sense of it, and I couldn't connect it with the left over piece.
I ran to the store and bought a battery and tried to start the bike. It turned over! I had actually gotten all the parts in the right places. Within 5 minutes I had it running. I thought the top of my head would fall off from grinning so big. I was beyond ecstatic! I painted the sheet metal parts and in two days took it for its maiden voyage. It ran like it just came out of the shop. It was perfect. And then I got depressed.
Suddenly I was a man without a mission. I didn't know what to do with myself. Life was dull and I felt unmotivated to do much of anything. I would look at the bike all completed in the garage and wish I could be back putting it all together, figuring out how the thing worked, facing the challenge of the creator of the bike's genius. I wanted to fix it more and solve more problems. Riding was fun, but the real joy was the synergy of creating something alive out of a box of parts.
As I look back on my manic motorcycle episode, I see being a man with a mission as something I thrive on. I wonder how many other men are the same way? Give us a clear vision and we know what our mission is. Let us walk ourselves into the same old rut every day and after very long we begin to fade. No vision, no passion, no purpose. We go through the motions, but there isn't much of a pulse.
I want to talk to some men who are willing to get their pulse back. I want to run the race with some guys who are ready to have their worlds shaken up a little, who want to rebuild a Harley, who are ready to embrace the passion in their heart. All the pieces are there. They just need someone to help them put it all together.
That left over piece was a breather. It let air in and out of the crankcase, and after I figured that out and fished it out of the trash, it completed the bike. Of course, being the goofball that I was (and still am), I sold the Sportster for twice what I paid for it and started another project right away.
I couldn't sleep for a week. I would get off work (or find an excuse to get off early) and work until midnight, never stopping for dinner of needed potty stops. Covered in grease and grinning from ear to ear, I would lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, unable to shut off the momentum. Sometimes I would stop trying to fight it and just go back out to the garage until I couldn't stay awake anymore, then collapse on the couch.
All I could think about was the bike. For a week I didn't do anything but function as a severe man with a mission. It was all I could talk about, think about, or dream about. I wanted to spend every free moment building it. And believe it or not, I got it all built and had one piece left over. It looked like junk, so I threw it away, not knowing where it would go. I also had an uncovered hole on the side of the engine, but I couldn't make any sense of it, and I couldn't connect it with the left over piece.
I ran to the store and bought a battery and tried to start the bike. It turned over! I had actually gotten all the parts in the right places. Within 5 minutes I had it running. I thought the top of my head would fall off from grinning so big. I was beyond ecstatic! I painted the sheet metal parts and in two days took it for its maiden voyage. It ran like it just came out of the shop. It was perfect. And then I got depressed.
Suddenly I was a man without a mission. I didn't know what to do with myself. Life was dull and I felt unmotivated to do much of anything. I would look at the bike all completed in the garage and wish I could be back putting it all together, figuring out how the thing worked, facing the challenge of the creator of the bike's genius. I wanted to fix it more and solve more problems. Riding was fun, but the real joy was the synergy of creating something alive out of a box of parts.
As I look back on my manic motorcycle episode, I see being a man with a mission as something I thrive on. I wonder how many other men are the same way? Give us a clear vision and we know what our mission is. Let us walk ourselves into the same old rut every day and after very long we begin to fade. No vision, no passion, no purpose. We go through the motions, but there isn't much of a pulse.
I want to talk to some men who are willing to get their pulse back. I want to run the race with some guys who are ready to have their worlds shaken up a little, who want to rebuild a Harley, who are ready to embrace the passion in their heart. All the pieces are there. They just need someone to help them put it all together.
That left over piece was a breather. It let air in and out of the crankcase, and after I figured that out and fished it out of the trash, it completed the bike. Of course, being the goofball that I was (and still am), I sold the Sportster for twice what I paid for it and started another project right away.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Snowed in - in more ways than one
As I write we are in the middle of the bizzard of '08. The wind has been whipping all day and the snow has been continuous since sunrise. I went outside for awhile and it wasn't that bad. I spent 3 hours rolling around on the dirt of the barn floor as I put a hitch on my truck. I thought to myself how the blizzard of '08 wasn't that bad until I had to walk to the other barn to get tools and I was hit with 30 mile per hour winds and horizontal snow. Then I realized I wasn't going to last very long.
By the time I got in to the house I was frozen in several places. After I warmed up I regained my confidence as I was able to make fun of the storm from inside the big picture window with horizontal snow flying past it. Truth be know, it's times like this that I begin to get in touch with how vulnerable and helpless we humans are. Our old farm house has gas heat, electric stove, and absolutley no way to stay warm when the power goes off. It only takes a few degrees to realize how powerless we are. It is a humbling experience.
A lot of life has been like the blizzard of '08 for me. The great adventure of following my unpredictable Daddy has been taking me through some pretty rough snow drifts. I find that I don't see very well in the blinding, horizontal snow of this season. I don't like the lost and vulnerable sense I get during this time. I want so desperately for God to make some sense, but he doesn't. And I am faced with my carnality hanging out all over the place. I don't like having to walk in faith. I want answers, clear vision, and perfect 70 degree days. I also want everything to go right in life, I want my hair back, and a vehicle to drive that has less than 200,000 miles. And I'd like fries with that too....
By the time I got in to the house I was frozen in several places. After I warmed up I regained my confidence as I was able to make fun of the storm from inside the big picture window with horizontal snow flying past it. Truth be know, it's times like this that I begin to get in touch with how vulnerable and helpless we humans are. Our old farm house has gas heat, electric stove, and absolutley no way to stay warm when the power goes off. It only takes a few degrees to realize how powerless we are. It is a humbling experience.
A lot of life has been like the blizzard of '08 for me. The great adventure of following my unpredictable Daddy has been taking me through some pretty rough snow drifts. I find that I don't see very well in the blinding, horizontal snow of this season. I don't like the lost and vulnerable sense I get during this time. I want so desperately for God to make some sense, but he doesn't. And I am faced with my carnality hanging out all over the place. I don't like having to walk in faith. I want answers, clear vision, and perfect 70 degree days. I also want everything to go right in life, I want my hair back, and a vehicle to drive that has less than 200,000 miles. And I'd like fries with that too....
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